In 1890s Chicago, bicycles were all the rage

It was 1896, the pinnacle of America's first cycling craze, and Chicago was caught up in the excitement over these new "noiseless steeds." Then as now, bicycles jostled with other modes of transportation, vying for supremacy.

Robert LoerzelSpecial to the Tribune

Chicago's fastest, rudest bicyclists were called "scorchers." They hunched over their handlebars as they raced in the streets.

They were "selfish, reckless, impudent transgressors of the law and trespassers upon the rights of others," the Tribune harrumphed. The newspaper described scorchers as cyclists "who delight to whirl around corners without warning and sweep down upon the unwary on a crossing, with a laugh at the alarm they cause and only a very slight fear of the police."

It was 1896, the pinnacle of America's first cycling craze, and Chicago was caught up in the excitement over these new "noiseless steeds." Then as now, bicycles jostled with other modes of transportation, vying for supremacy.

After a brutal winter this season that kept many bicycles in the garage, that scene will be staged anew as warmer weather allows cyclists to pedal lakefront paths or commute on city and suburban streets. At the turn of the last century, bicycles were such a novelty they required their own vocabulary.

Scorchers weren't the only breed of "wheelmen," as cyclists were known. Upper-class citizens leisurely rode bicycles down the boulevards. Some laborers — those who could afford a bicycle — were using bikes to do their jobs, as a Tribune reporter noticed one morning, observing people carrying carpentry tools, carpet, chickens, cameras and even shotguns as they pedaled around.

Women and girls were riding bikes, too, but it was cumbersome in the ankle-length dresses considered proper female attire in that era. According to a Tribune story, Lucy Porter was the first Chicago woman who took the bold step of riding in a style of baggy trousers called bloomers.

"I felt dreadfully nervous," she said in 1894. "I became so weak I could scarcely ride." Some male bicyclists approvingly shook her hand when they saw her wearing pants astride her bike for the first time. But as she rode, "a group of silly, half-grown boys indulged in cat-calls." Porter also was a pioneer bike commuter, the Tribune reported, keeping a slip at work.

Another "bloomer girl," who lived on the West Side, heard the same insults dozens of times as she bicycled in pants: "Shameless creature!" "Just look at her!" "Whose little boy are you?" "What a freak!" But she persisted. Women were turning their bikes into a tool for liberation.

Bicycles had been in Chicago since at least 1868, when local resident Augustus Wheeler went about on a French "velocipede." But they were little more than a novelty until the late 1880s, when "safety bicycles" came onto the market. These models, with two wheels of equal size, launched a bicycle boom.

One day in 1893, a Tribune reporter saw "hundreds" of bicycles on the streets and parks within a couple of hours. By 1897, about 300,000 people — 1 of every 5 Chicagoans — were riding bikes, a city official estimated.

"Chicago is the bicycle center of the United States," the Tribune proclaimed in 1896. Over the previous six years, the city's bicycle-making industry had grown from four companies to 25. The average cost of a bike was $75 (the equivalent of $2,000 today), and Chicago's factories were turning out 250,000 a year.

By that time the city had about 50 cycling clubs, with some 10,000 members. Cycling enthusiasts included Carter H. Harrison Jr., whose father had been mayor. When the younger Harrison ran for mayor for the first time in 1897, he posed for a campaign photo on a bicycle. Harrison said he knew the picture "would carry weight with the vast army of Chicago wheelmen." He won the race, the first of his five mayoral election victories.

Hundreds of cyclists vied each year in the Pullman Bicycle Race, which drew as many as 100,000 spectators along its 15-mile route. Cycling tracks were built in parks, including Garfield Park, where the African-American cyclist Major Taylor (the Tribune called him "the colored wonder") set a world record in 1899, scorching a mile in just over a minute and 22 seconds.

Other cyclists tested their endurance by racing for six days with only short breaks, at venues including the Chicago Coliseum. Alarmed by this behavior, the Illinois General Assembly in 1897 made it illegal for bicyclists to race for more than 12 hours straight.

Some Chicagoans worried that the female body was too fragile to withstand the physical effects of bicycling. "It is a somewhat violent exercise under some circumstances, and is not a safe kind for a woman who is delicate," said Dr. Henry Byford. But most doctors contacted by the Tribune said female cycling was perfectly safe. "Bicycle riding is an antidote against moping, indolence and enervation," said Dr. Edwin Kuh. "I believe that physicians should advise their bachelor clients not to marry any girl who doesn't ride a bicycle."

For strict moralists, the real worry was that bicycling made it easy for young men and women to socialize away from watchful eyes. And men were ogling female cyclists. One coachman crashed in 1896 when he was distracted by the sight of "a well-formed woman wearing a suit of red bloomers."

Some local clergy condemned the riding of bicycles on the Sabbath. "No greater crime against civilization can be committed than the action of bicycle clubs to hold meets, parades, races and other sports on Sunday," the Rev. David Beaton said.

Bicycles were blamed for Chicago's declining theater attendance, railroad revenue and horse riding. Temperance advocates hoped people would drink less if they bicycled, but liquor sales held steady. Chewing gum sales went up, however. As the Tribune explained, "The man or woman who rides a wheel and does not chew gum is now placed somewhat in the position of a freak."

Automobiles were a rarity at that time, but cyclists had plenty of other vehicles to worry about as they navigated the city, including carriages and wagons pulled by horses, which sometimes got spooked by bicycles brushing past them. Increasing the risk of accidents, pedestrians weren't accustomed to watching out for bicycles, which made barely any noise compared with all of the other contraptions clattering on the roads.

"Woe Follows the Trail of the Bicycle," a Tribune headline declared in August 1897, after the police handled 100 accidents involving bicycles in two months. In a few cases, cyclists were blamed for fatal accidents, resulting in headlines like "Death Due to Scorcher."

"Certainly Chicago has known nothing like it before, and this symptom of the wheel craze demands attention," a police sergeant remarked. "Wheelmen should be made to feel their responsibility and other people should be taught to recognize the cyclists' rights."

Seeking a solution to the havoc, some dreamers suggested building elevated bicycle paths. And cycling organizations lobbied Chicago to pave some of its bumpy streets. In 1897, the City Council passed an ordinance requiring cyclists to put an identification tag on their bikes and pay a fee of $1 a year. Cycling clubs supported the tax, hoping the money would be used to pave streets.

But a former judge, Lorin Collins, challenged it in court. "If this tax is allowed to go, think of what a vast field will be opened up to venal and corrupt legislative bodies," he warned. "The next step will be to tax a man for shoes because he helps wear out the streets. Then they can ring in his walking stick. Baby carriages will not be overlooked, and finally everything a man eats and wears and uses may be subjected to a petty municipal tax." The Illinois Supreme Court tossed out the ordinance in 1898, ruling that Chicago had overstepped its limited taxation powers.

Rather quickly, the bicycle boom went bust. Sales plummeted, and many cycling clubs disbanded. The number of bicycles manufactured nationwide plunged 79 percent from 1897 to 1904, according to the U.S. Department of Commerce. Suddenly, bikes were far less common on Chicago streets. The Tribune reported that the social elite had lost interest in the "fad."

Of course, bicycles didn't go away entirely, even when the car became king. As other bicycle companies shut down, one Chicago firm — Arnold, Schwinn & Co. — stayed in business, emerging as one of the 20th century's iconic brands.

As today's cyclists clamor for protected bike lanes, the words of a Chicago bicycle merchant in 1896 no longer seem quite as far-fetched. He told the Tribune that bikes might become "the great necessity of modern times."

Editor's note: Thanks to Phil Lindstrom, of Palos Heights, and Peter Maley, of Lockport; for suggesting different aspects of this Flashback.